


Just a word

by CureIcy



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Canon Asexual Character, Character Study, M/M, and it's probably from trauma, demiromantic tim stoker, elderly lesbians for the win, he/they tim stoker, martin blackwood has anxiety, panromantic asexual jonathan sims, vague spoilers up to s5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26285380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CureIcy/pseuds/CureIcy
Summary: Statement of Jonathan Sims, regarding his asexuality and how that has impacted him throughout the years.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 16
Kudos: 108
Collections: Repulsed/Averse Ace Jon Archivist





	Just a word

**Author's Note:**

> Ace content seems to be popular in this fandom, and I'm so glad to see so many aspec folks feeling validated by that. Eat your heart out, y'all. I made this one for you.

When Jon is seven, his grandmother loudly sighs and says she wishes he would have a kid just as annoying as him. He pouts and tells her he’s never going to have kids.

“Don’t be daft,” she tells him with a reproachful glare. “Everyone does it. You’ll meet a nice woman someday who will change your mind.”

Jon buries himself in a book for the rest of the day, but he can’t help but notice that the hero is always a boy, and he always gets the girl in the end. He wishes that wouldn’t happen so much. He just wants to read about dragons, not kissing and legs and boring stuff. Why can’t he just live happily ever after in a big cave with nice lighting and a hoard of books?

* * *

When Jon is ten, the boys and girls are separated and shown a video on puberty and reproduction. While it does answer some rather pertinent questions Jon had about genetics, it’s uncomfortable with all of the boys in the classroom giggling and making stupid jokes and exaggerated faces. He resolves to find a book from the library that will explain it much better than the condescending woman with the guest badge and the fake smile who claps her hands at the end of the video and quizzes them.

When she calls on him, he hesitantly recites what he remembers from the video, and there’s a smattering of giggling from the rest of the boys.

Jon doesn’t talk for the rest of class, and he doesn’t ask the librarian for help, either.

* * *

When Jon is nineteen, he meets Georgie. She’s got a charmingly off kilter sense of humor and carries a huge purse with everything from Tupperware to extra chapstick. She runs a horror podcast, as a way of coping with her fears, she tells him. 

She’s got a story behind that. But Jon doesn’t ask and Georgie doesn’t tell, and that’s okay. They grow to enjoy each other’s company, and she even invites him for a couple episodes to play devil’s advocate. From there, one dinner together turns into two and then three, and then on their fourth night out together she kisses him on the cheek.

“What was that?” Jon asks, red faced and flustered in the doorway.

“A good night kiss,” she says, as if it’s obvious.

“Are we— are we dating?”

“I thought— wait, you didn’t know? I thought you were just taking it slow!”

“No! I was waiting to ask you out officially!”

“Well, do you want to go out?”

“This isn’t how I— ” Jon pauses, lets himself gather his thoughts. “Yes, Georgie. Are you free Saturday?”

And just like that, they’re dating. And they’re happy, except they never learned how to be happy together, only alone.

Neither of them sets boundaries, because they don’t know how. Jon accidentally adopts a cat because he’s secretly a huge softie, and he fights with Georgie over who’s going to take care of it because he just impulsively picked up a shivering stray kitten off the corner. They’re both busy with classes, but Jon stubbornly nurses the kitten until it’s healthy and he can’t see its ribs anymore, and fails a history class. Georgie mentions offhand on her podcast a remark her boyfriend made, and Jon passively aggressively ignores her for a week because he never gave his approval for that to be made public. 

They eat each other’s leftovers, schedule things without asking the other, and always convince themselves it’s an issue of not trying hard enough. Except, they’re trying so hard, but they’re swimming upstream when neither one of them knows how to have a good relationship.

They don’t draw lines in the sand, but expect each other to know, and finally it comes to a breaking point. They can’t enjoy each other’s company anymore, and Jon laments one night that he misses the way things used to be.

“What, do you want to break up?” Georgie asks. She doesn’t sound angry, just curious and slightly surprised.

“Would that make things better?” Jon asks.

“I don’t want to lose you. You know I’m not good at making friends.” She looks down, fidgets with her hands. “I just… want to hold on. But that’s not working, is it.”

“No,” Jon says softly.

It’s better this way. They shake hands, agree that Georgie has custody of the Admiral and Jon has visiting rights, and that’s that.

They keep a close friendship through the rest of university, even in spite of their diverging interests. Jon maintains that his interest in the supernatural is largely academic, and Georgie excitedly tells him that she came out to her parents as bisexual during her Junior year. He’s known since a few months in, and supported her, but now watches as she radiates happiness at her acceptance, and starts to finally make friends at the GSA. She says that the bi and ace students know the best puns, but Jon just smiles and nods.

Identity is another thing that he avoids. He can’t define himself, but there’s so much he doesn’t understand. And that scares him.

* * *

When Jon is 23, newly graduated and waiting at the bus stop after a job interview, he carefully unpins the straight ally button from his bag. Such things are considered unprofessional, he is quickly learning, and he cannot afford to be seen as such, not when he’s tried so hard for this.

Besides, a little voice in his head whispers, maybe you’re not straight. Maybe you’re just broken.

His musings are interrupted by a man with lanky hair leaning over the bench, one arm bisecting Jon’s view of his seatmate.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

“I thought I told you it was over,” the woman on the other side of the bench responds crisply.

“What, because you wanted to chase some useless dream?”

“I’m far more qualified for my dream than you’ll ever be, so go home and leave me alone.”

He leans forward, far closer than either Jon or the woman are comfortable with. “Listen, if you really—“

Jon sets his bag on the bench to block his way with a resounding  _ thunk,  _ ‘accidentally’ clipping the man’s ribs. “She asked for you to leave. Now, if you’re quite finished, leave.”

“Thank you.” She gives a brief nod to Jon before turning back to the man who is presumably her ex. “Listen, neither of us wants you here, and I told you I’m done. Find someone else.”

“What, like you found him?”

“No, I don’t know her name and never met her before. And somehow, I manage to be nicer than you, despite your implied history. So I think that says quite a bit more about you than it does either of us,” Jon shoots back.

The creep turns his attention to Jon and sneers. “What are you, gay? I’m just trying to have a conversation. Back off.”

“Actually, you’re the one who needs to back off,” the woman says, reaching into her purse for something Jon recognizes as pepper spray. 

“Fine, if you feel like being an attack dog for this tease,” the creep says, with a scowl uglier than any Jon has ever seen. He storms off, but the tightness in Jon’s chest remains.

“Thanks,” the woman tells him, slumping down on the bench. Oh. Jon supposes her neckline is rather low, which explains the comment about her being a tease, but he can’t imagine why that would justify harassment in anyone’s mind. Seriously, it’s just clothing. Some people need to get over themselves.

“It’s not a problem,” Jon tells her, although somehow it comes out flat and lacking inflection. “I’m sorry he was bothering you.”

“It’s all right; not your fault anyways,” she tells him with a small smile. “And I’m not exactly straight myself, so on the off chance that you actually are gay, he just uses that on anyone less entitled than he is. Don’t take it personally.”

“Ah. No, I’m just—“ he pauses. “Not certain. I’m not certain what I am.”

“Still looking for a label?”

“Something like that.” Looking for any excuse to remove himself from the spotlight, he turns it back on her. “What about you?”

“Actually, I prefer the term pansexual.” She taps a small patch on her jacket, proudly displayed on her shoulder. “I don’t care about gender, I just want a partner who will respect me.”

“What if you don’t want— or don’t know if you want— a partner?” Jon asks. “Is there a word for that?”

“Huh. I think the umbrella term is aspec? It’s probably worth checking out.” She yawns, and starts rummaging through her purse for something. “Anyways, don’t worry about him. We went on one date after meeting online, and he got pissy when I mentioned my career, and I’ll get my sister to sue him if he tries again.”

Jon can’t imagine why anyone would want to date if it could mean subjecting oneself to people like that, or maybe he can’t imagine why anyone would want to date. The bus pulls up, he is lost in the crowd, and he thinks about a term that might cover the emptiness he feels.

But Jon doesn’t look it up that night, or any time after that, because his personal identity doesn’t matter in an environment where he is defined by his productivity. He cannot afford identity, and so he turns away from it.

* * *

Jon is 26, and recently employed at the Magnus Institute, and he has a sinking feeling that this is going to go wrong. He’s already taken an ibuprofen for the nervous stomachache, but his hands are shaking and he’s sweating through his jacket and he can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched. He’s so wrapped up in these worries that he doesn’t notice when a dark haired person with a lopsided smile approaches him.

“Hey there! Tim Stoker, he/they. You’re new, right?”

“Ah.” Jon tentatively holds out his hand to shake, trying to keep from grimacing when Tim does so quite enthusiastically. It’s not painful, per se, but a bit more rambunctious than would be expected in any professional environment. “Jonathan Sims. He/him, please.” The words come easy, even after all these years away from college.

“Nice to meet you,” Tim says with a wide smile, and Jon has the sinking feeling he’s just been adopted into the social circle of an extrovert. There’s no escape.

As it turns out, Tim isn’t unlike Georgie. He makes terrible puns on occasion, throws himself into hobbies without worrying about being good enough, and occasionally threatens to shower Jon with affection if he doesn’t start loving and respecting himself. They’re also a prankster who believes variety is the spice of life, but no one’s perfect. At least he keeps the worst of it away from Jon, and promises no spider related pranks after the tarantula roomba incident. Jon, in return, trades research sometimes, especially regarding clowns and architecture. It’s against company policy, but he can bend the rules a bit.

And eventually, the two reach a point in their friendship where Jon feels comfortable asking Tim for advice.

“So, you have experience with LGBT identities in regards to relationships, right?” he asks.

“A couple, yeah,” Tim says amiably. “Do you count casual hookups as relationships?”

“No.” Quite frankly, Jon can’t imagine why someone would just casually have sex, or have sex at all. He can’t deny some curiosity, of course, but he can never find the time to figure out what all the fuss is about. It certainly can’t be equivalent to a relationship, not simply overnight.

“All right, that narrows things down. What do you want to know?”

“I’m trying to figure out a...label for someone I know. Do you know what aspec means?”

“Sure! I’m actually demi.”

Jon stares at them blankly. “Demi as in half? I thought you got in a heated argument with David last week about how being bi  _ wasn’t _ half gay and half straight.”

“David is a prick and language can change,” Tim says decisively. “In this case, it means I only feel romantic attraction after forming an emotional attachment. So, while I don’t mind casual hookups, it takes a while for romantic feelings to develop. Until then, it’s more like a friends with benefits deal, y’know? And I still care deeply about my friends, don’t get me wrong. It’s not any less loving, it’s just that there are some emotions that don’t come until later on. Under the aspec label, people can be aromantic, asexual, both, maybe even somewhere in the grey area. And it’s just the way they are, not something that can or should be changed.”

“I see,” Jon says slowly, trying to process. Between acceptance and denial, the path of denial is blocked off by his affection for Tim, but the one towards acceptance of this information is restricted by everything he needs to unlearn. “ What about relationships when one member is, well, aspec?”

Relationships can be… difficult, but not impossible,” they say delicately. “It takes a lot of communication, and a willingness to compromise. A lot of times, it’s an open relationship, so that everyone’s individual needs can be satisfied.”

“I’ll… do some of my own research to try and understand.”

Tim nods, uncharacteristically serious. “I don’t fully come out to everyone, you know. I get enough flak as it is for being bi, and the fact that I’m demiromantic gets interpreted as predatory a lot. I’m telling you this because you seem like you’re a bit lost, and you’re a cool guy under all the stiffness. I want to help.”

“Thank you, Tim. I appreciate it.” Jon gives him a smile, a genuine one, and has to push down the flood of emotions that threaten to follow it. That doesn’t work out terribly well, and he has a crisis in the bathroom for a full twelve minutes before his time management skills kick in and he takes his lunch in the storage room.

(Tim comes looking for him, but Jon keeps the lights off and the door closed. He has to be professional, after all, and he’s crossed enough lines today.)

* * *

Jon is 30, on the run for murder, and beginning to realize that it’s still paranoia even if they are out to get you, and maybe his paranoia has damaged too many relationships already. He visits the only person whose trust he hasn’t lost, and is relieved to see she’s doing well. Georgie’s podcast has a small yet loyal following, and she’s a lot better at taking care of her own mental health than Jon is.

Boundaries are still an issue, communication is still an issue, but they’re better than they were, but now he’s being attacked by murderous clowns and doesn’t even know if he’s human, and he decides, fine. You only live once, so he might as well make the most of it. Move out in order to keep her safe, and maybe stop repressing so many emotions and trust someone like he used to. Especially since he might not live that long, at this point.

Jonathan Sims is asexual, and no one can take that word away from him.

(He buys himself a black ring, and it leaves a long scratch on the face of the entity known as Breekon, and he twists it round and round for an entire month as he waits to be skinned.)

* * *

Jon is 33, but he is old beyond his years. He feels like a mess of trauma and pain and knowledge and aching all shoved into scarred and tattered human skin.

But for the first time in his life, he has allowed himself to fall head over heels in love. And despite every one of the circumstances surrounding it, he has peace, in a cozy little safehouse in Scotland, with leisurely days to make their relationship work.

Martin does research on asexuality and setting boundaries, while Jon makes sure to look up how anxiety and trauma affect relationships, and how he can do his best to keep things comfortable and healthy from his end. It pushes and prods at his empathy in ways he’s not used to, but it’s good.

They learn.

Martin asks before kissing, before touching, stutters his way through boundary conversations at first but grows more comfortable in time. Jon teaches himself to be honest, to clarify his mood rather than letting Martin assume the worst, to reassure him that yes, he still cares. Martin offers to take the couch before Jon explains that he’s willing to share the bed, maybe even work his way up to cuddling, and they always keep a small point of contact in the night, whether it’s an arm draped over the other’s chest or fingers curled gently around each other. Jon stays in bed until Martin wakes up, watching him breathe and waiting to show his boyfriend that he’s not alone. 

They find time, time like they’ve never had before, and take care of each other. Jon lays on the grass staring at the freckles on Martin’s arm, making up constellations and legends for each one, telling stories until he falls asleep with the sun on his face and Martin’s jacket under his arm. They comb each other’s hair in the mornings, and sometimes Jon kisses Martin lightly on the nose before making smiley face pancakes for both of them. It’s been too long since they just let themselves be happy, since they let themselves just be.

It’s a late afternoon when Martin finds the pride flags in the closet. It’s an opened plastic bag, and when he pulls out the umbrella for their walk, it spills out onto the hall. Colors and stripes and the occasional symbol, printed on cheap vinyl and pouring out at their feet. 

“Well, that’s one way to come out of the closet,” Jon remarks. He’d feel bad about outing Daisy if she hadn’t casually mentioned a celebrity crush on a female voice actor for an audio drama they heard together.

“A visual pun? Really?”

“I thought a pun would be fitting.” Jon doesn’t exactly buy into most stereotypes— while he knows some are valid and have legitimate reasons, he found his identity far too late to join and be influenced by a community of people like him. But he does appreciate a good piece of wordplay, always has.

Martin just sighs fondly. “Well, we should probably clean up.”

“Do you think Daisy would mind if I borrowed this?” Jon asks, picking up the asexual flag and dusting it off carefully. “I think...”

“It looks like it came in a variety pack, so go for it. I’ll take this one, then.” Martin takes a rainbow flag and twirls it between his fingers with a wistful smile. “Do you want any other one?”

Jon remembers the woman from the bus stop, years ago, and takes a flag with pink, yellow, and baby blue stripes. “Yeah.”

Martin’s eyes light up in the same way they do when he writes poetry. “Jon— Jon, I’ve got an idea. Can you turn around?”

Jon is full of trust issues, he has been stabbed and cut and burned and threatened by nearly everyone he knows. But he trusts Martin, and leans in to his touch when Martin gently begins to finger comb through his hair. It’s nearly long enough to sit on, and it’s one of the few luxuries he allows himself. The grey streaks have grown even wider and more prominent, but privately, Jon thinks they look rather striking. If nothing else, they draw attention away from his scars.

Every time Martin touches his hair, Jon has to struggle to keep himself from melting into a puddle of self loathing and touch starvation, but somehow he manages to stay upright as Martin carefully guides it into a bun, twisting and tucking until it’s just right, and then sliding something into it.

“There,” he says, his voice bringing Jon out of the haze. “Take a look!”

He guides Jon to the hall mirror, because Jon is still half melted from his touch and doesn’t think he could walk on his own.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

That’s him, isn’t it?

That man reflected in the mirror, who fills out a faded What The Ghost tee shirt, whose scars are completely visible but no longer angry red, whose hair is lovingly brushed and swept into a bun with a pair of flags sticking out— that’s Jon. Oh, those flags aren’t in his hand anymore, are they? He didn’t notice.

His words get caught and die in his throat, like a whirlpool of every emotion pouring through him right now. This is him. This is Jonathan Sims, and the wonderful, kind man behind him with soft hands and notebooks full of poetry and a heart full of love is his. The one he loves.

“Is it— do you not like it? Oh my gosh I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, Jon, I— ”

“No,” Jon chokes out, “No, I love it. I just,  _ love _ isn’t— it’s so new to me that I get overwhelmed sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, hesitantly sticking his own rainbow flag into the pocket of his cardigan. “Me too. Want to sit down?”

Jon thinks Martin meant on the couch, but he collapses to the ground right then and there, and he’s crying and Martin’s crying and they hold each other tight until the rest of the world doesn’t matter, and it’s just them. Two idiots learning how to love, and falling in headfirst.

* * *

One day, when they’re grocery shopping down in the village, an elderly woman calls to them from her porch. Martin lets go of Jon’s hand on instinct, then grabs it again, giving Jon a panicked glance.

“It’s okay. I think she’s safe,” Jon murmurs, and breathes out a sigh of relief as the Beholding, unbidden, tells him that this woman once fed the Desolation well. She feared...angry mobs, hate crimes, blood, but no longer. Now, she doesn’t even fear death.

“Are you young men together?” The woman asks with a kind smile.

“Yes, actually. He’s my boyfriend,” Martin says, as if daring her to argue.

“Ah, that’s wonderful.” She smiles wistfully. “Would you like to have some lemonade and cookies? My wife makes the best shortbread.”

Martin visibly relaxes at the mention of her wife. “That would be lovely, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, any time,” she assures them, and starts pulling a few deck chairs together near the little glass table. Martin hurriedly assures her that he can take care of it, and she pats him on the head and ambles inside, presumably to fetch her wife.

_ Her wife. _ It’s such a simple phrase, but he doesn’t think he’s ever heard anyone say it out loud. It feels like excitement, like happiness and freedom, and he swears it isn’t anything creepy, he’s just getting overemotional at the fact that there are people older than him who are happily married to someone of the same gender.  _ His boyfriend. I am his boyfriend. _ The words send the same tingle of excitement through him, and he has the sudden urge to hold Martin’s hand.

Jonathan Sims can hold his boyfriend’s hand whenever he wants, and after he’s finished helping Martin with the chairs, he does just that.

The first woman introduces herself as Eleanor, and her wife is Lana. Lana walks slowly and deliberately using her cane, and has milky white cataracts heavier over one eye than the other. Eleanor carefully deposits a plate of shortbread cookies on the table, and returns for the lemonade.

“Now, don’t mind if this old woman is a bit of a gossip, but ever since Brian— ah, he goes by Aaron now, doesn’t he,” Lana says, furrowing her brow. “Pardon me; my memory isn’t what it used to be, and he tried quite a few names before finding one that fit. Ever since Aaron moved away, we haven’t had anyone else like us in the community. So you’ll understand if we’re rather eager for a bit of gossip.”

“None?” Jon asks. Statistically, that can’t be right, but he supposes there’s no one in the village who’s openly out.

Eleanor sets down an old fashioned pitcher of lemonade, then settles onto the wicker couch at her wife’s side. “Oh, there was a woman a while back who bought a cottage and talked about asking her partner out for a picnic, but she hasn’t returned. She was always so angry, poor thing.”

“Was she taller than I am, with a bit of grey in her ponytail and a scar on her back?” Jon asks.

“That’s the one! Daisy, I think. Such a soft name for her. I hope she’s doing all right. It’s not easy on a body, you know, being different and longing for love. Does strange things to the mind, and leaves you healing for a long time.” She lets out a sigh, and Jon remembers how old she really is, how many friends she must have seen dying or succumbing. “Solidarity is all we have, and it’s the first step towards healing.”

“She’s been going through a lot lately,” Martin says quietly. 

“Oh, what is it? Anything we can help with?”

“She suffered a... relapse,” Jon says delicately. “Her partner is helping her handle it.”

“Well, let us know if there’s anything we can do, all right? There’s always a spare room and a listening ear available.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jon says, trying not to think about Daisy being consumed by the Hunt.

“Now, you young folks have labels, don’t you?” Eleanor asks.

“I don’t— don’t really like to label myself. I like guys, that’s all,” Martin says.

“It’s rather esoteric, but… panromantic and asexual.” Then again, Jon thinks wryly, he’s a paranormal researcher. Just about everything about him is esoteric in some way, and sometimes he feels like he needs to give a vocabulary lesson before introducing himself.

“Asexual, huh? I remember a girl like you at the protests. Cynthia— Lana, you remember Cynthia, don’t you?”

“A real bright spark, our Cynthia,” Lana agrees. “She always had the prettiest sundresses.”

“Back then, we called them Bambi lesbians, since they’d rather cuddle, but it’s good that the younger crowd has more names for it. More inclusive names— goodness, there’s that split attraction model, isn’t there? That sounds quite helpful for you. Even new pronouns— I’m afraid this old woman never got the hang of anything besides singular they, but I’m sure you two can still learn some new tricks.” Eleanor smiles fondly at them.

“We might have more labels, but you have more experience, and, um...” Martin swallows. “People around me have always treated queerness like it’s something new, so it’s very comforting to hear how long it’s been around.”

“You’re a good lad, Martin.” She pats his hair, and Martin’s expression turns to one of wonder at the display of maternal affection. “Don’t let them convince you that you’re alone, all right? We didn’t fight for love just so they could turn around and erase our struggles.”

* * * * * * * * * * *

* * * * * * * * *

* * * * * * *

* * * * *

* * *

*

When Jon is ageless, when he has transcended beyond time and beyond this ruined world, he remembers that he is wonderfully, undeniably in love with Martin, and he comes back. He leaves the hunger and the fear behind him, casts it aside into the abyss from whence it came, and falls into the waiting arms of his lover. There will always be fear, yes, but that fear cannot control this world any longer.

So the Ceaseless Watching blinks, the Archive of Beholding lets himself be held, and the entities themselves crumple and retreat under the sheer force of their antithesis.

And the Archives burn, taking with them the eyes of a tired human named Jonathan Sims.

Jon is thirty-five, and he is safe in the arms of the one he loves, and the world will heal, even if he isn’t able to see it anymore. So long as there is love, there will be comfort, and they will find a way.

**Author's Note:**

> in case it wasn’t clear, Aaron is a trans guy, which is why he experimented a lot with names. Lana and Eleanor helped him pack when he turned eighteen and moved out, and send him shortbread every holiday. They sometimes forget and use the wrong names by accident, but have completely forgotten his deadname, and he’s always patient to correct them. Sometime after the world recovers from the eyepocalypse, Lana knits him a blanket with his name on it, and they never get it wrong again.  
> Also! Anxious Martin means a lot to me and I wanted to show Jon accommodating and learning for him.


End file.
